Harry Potter and the Angel in the Dark
by Lady Rowena
Summary: It is Harry's sixth year, and there is a mysterious, new girl who Harry cannot get out of his head. Is she, as Hermione says, a traitor, who is trying to kill Harry? Or is she, as Harry hopes, simply an angel trying to help him defeat Lord Voldemort?
1. Voldemort's Warrior

This is the newly updated chapter one. I hope you're happy. PLEASE REVIEW :cry:

Disclaimer: HP JKR's. Plot Mine. Original Characters Mine.

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In a dusty, dilapidated flat, a poorly-aged man, whose face had grown to be unrecognizable and horrifying in comparison to the ostentatiously charming and brilliant boy he once was, was sitting in an armchair counting the minutes on a wall clock. The apartment wasn't much larger than a walk-in closet, and the roof was leaking a dry sort of leak, with pauses would take a standard ten minutes. 

The restless man's desperate desire to force devotion and admiration out of a once pure and beautiful heart was disgusting, not that he cared for the one that he was trying to force devotion from. He didn't care for anyone. The blood deep under his skin, which is the only truly human part he attains, makes him grow restless and angry. Time had stolen his good looks and his humanness. He had been transformed into nothing more than a snake with legs.

His assistant was a stumpy man, no larger than a fourteen-year old, with a white comb over and dirty, sloppy rat-like flesh. The man's nervousness was evident due to his uncontrollable twitching and the accumulating sweat on his forehead.

"She should have been here by now. You don't think she got lost do you?" Wormtail asked his slouching master. "You don't think she...?"

"I'd rather not think about that. It's a terrible feeling... knowing she's out there... unguarded," slithered a high, snakelike voice, "Do you think I should have sent him with her? I mean keeping him would have been a good move, for right now?"

Before Wormtail could answer, the shadow of a tall, slim figure was cast upon the moonlight that lingered lazily in the dark room. Progressively, the slender outline became more and clearer from the darkness that consumed the room and Voldemort's heart. Her bony hands pushed back the hood of her cloak. Her skin was white and tender.

"Have you _any _idea how worried you've made me?" the voice hissed, more outraged than ever.

"Sorry. I's just doin' a lil' soul-searchin'," answered the girl's voice, her accent distinctively American, most likely the Southeast. Her bright blue eyes gleamed and reflected off an oddly illuminate in the pitch room. Her blond hair became more evident. She slumped into the onyx davenport with snakes itched on the arms next to Wormtail. He scooted away and hid his face in his hands as if expecting a hit to his jaw, but when one didn't come he relaxed back into an ordinary, yet frightened position.

"Were you thinking about..."-he cleared his throat- "the offer?" hissed the high voice, trying to seem slightly causal against his own will.

"Well, it is fine if you wish to take more time, but if it's worth anything, Malfoy really is a nice boy. His pedigree is marvelous, and he's an awfully respectable kid. I know you don't put much stock in my beliefs or what I have to say, but the prophets don't lie about fate dear," smiled Voldemort's voice, more human with every syllable.

"I know what my destiny is supposed to be, but I think I should at least explore my other options before deciding on any one person. It is my fate... after all," the girl answered.

"What the ...? You can't possibly be serious. That's lunacy, absolute lunacy. It would never work out. His kind will never accept you. And anyway... why would he ever like you for you?" answered the sinister voice, finally showing a slight bit of emotion on his face, as if he was disgusted and amused at the same time.

"Well for YOUR information I think he's quite charming! I would rather have him than a stooge with the_ personality of a dried beet, like Draco! _Sometimes you're so insensitive! I agree with you about one thing though: I don't take much stock in anything you say or this stupid trash you make me get for you!" she shouted, throwing a Quibbler paper from within her robes on the man's lap, "You don't even have to read it. _All it says is that you're a three foot tall midget, and the Ministry is being controlled by men with toads for heads! _I can understand you wanting to keep up with the news, but all that is is a way for the crazies of the of the wizarding world to get revenge on the Ministry for mocking them and publicize shit about you and Cornelius Fudge! I don't want to marry Draco because I'm in love with Harry Potter!"

"_Stop Talking About Him_! I swear if I didn't know better I would think you wanted me to kill you, but doing that would give you too much satisfaction. I think I'll hurt him instead. Of course, I could leave him alone, but only if you be a nice little Angelos and marry Draco! "

"I'll do whatever I feel like! _If you really cared about me, you wouldn't kill people!"_ She slammed the door and left. The men didn't stir after she left, except for Voldemort; he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Wormtail in a sly, unforgiving way. The screams enveloped the room and the surrounding area.

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If you like me at all, you will reveiw. I'm begging you! 


	2. The Girl of His Dreams

Author's Note: Chapter Two is New, Improved and Fat-free so read it even if you have read the original. Actually, just read the section at the bottom if you have already read the original chap and skim the beginning for chages because they are subtle and clue-filled!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. JK Rowling owns him. I'm a poor kid from Kentucky so don't sue. There's no money to take.

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On a lonely summer night, a boy sat under a tree; he was asleep, no, he was stirring despite himself. The boy could hear the pounding of the footsteps approaching and knew that they were fighting again just a few steps away. The boy feared what would happen if they heard him move even slightly, but there was more pressing matter at hand: his dream. He longed to hold on to it just a little longer, to see her one more time, thoseenchanting blue eyes. He envisioned the way her tender skin gleamed in the magnificent lunar light. It was a slightly dirty feeling.

Harry had never felt quite like this. He had been shaken up by a girl he had only seen. The lust that filled the air damned his soul. Love was a slow, timely process not a sudden jolt of emotions. Why was the world so damn confusing all of a sudden? He wished to caress her face in a very unnatural way that had seemed so innocent at first, but had turned into a very sexual feeling of passion and lust. His feelings for Cho had ended and a whole new relationship had begun out of a simple boyish dream of perfection, which had turned into a reality through an actual dream. No other girl was like her. No other girl was as good as her, as pure as her, as beautiful.

Actually, two relationships had bloomed recently; the second being a relationship with Hermione that had grown out of lonely feelings while at the Dursley's over the summer. She had become so solid and accessible yet so distant and unreachable compared to a dream girl. Her letters were becoming more slyly sensual and intimate. Love had bloomed and was in full swing. Love, for someone going-on-sixteen was used lightly, but Harry was afraid of love, afraid of having feelings for a person that he knew that he would loose. Loss had become a common theme in Harry's life. He had seen more and experienced more than most ever would in his first few years of life. So much lie ahead of him that even thinking of it made his head throb with pain.

It was unthinkable that he was so alone in the world and at the same time so close with two people that were as distant as humanly possible. The drip of the rain was too constant for him to be back in his leaky-roofed room, which meant he was somewhere he did not think he could have been. As his consciousness made him more and more aware, he realized how loud the footsteps were getting, how close they were. It was the ring of a pair of boots on pavement. He dreaded that sound more than he dreaded anything at that moment. There was so much pain, such anger. He could hear the yelling, the screeches of pain in the back of his mid, but they weren't close. This was a feeling that would never leave him. It would haunt Harry Potter until the day he died.

'Oh no,' he thought as he awoke and saw who was staring down at him.

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**Flash forward**

There was crying in the distance. Harry could hear the sobbing, but he couldn't see her. How he longed to be with her, to comfort her. Amidst the blinding lights that surrounded him, he could see something far off. It was her. He rushed off suddenly, running as fast as he possibly could to her, but he wished he hadn't found her when he reached her. She sat on a marble bench crying in the arms of another man.

He wasn't as old as Harry had expected, but he looked more aged than he was. He had a short, brown beard and his eyes were impossibly bright. They looked like her eyes. Harry stopped moving towards her abruptly. She stopped crying, but didn't even make an effort to wipe the other tears away. The man that was holding her looked up from her and glared at Harry.

His look wasn't as cold as it made Harry feel. It wasn't cold at all. There was no hatred for anyone in this man's heart. She smirked slightly as she glanced at Harry. Four words were all that could escape her mouth. Four simple words that hurt Harry more than anything.

"Look what you've done."

With a sudden flash, Harry was back in the Department of Mysteries. Everything that he had seen was gone from his view. There was no crying woman. No man comforting her when Harry should have been holding her tight. There was just the darkness of the room and that evil veil.

Harry rushed back to the door he had been at before. He didn't struggle to open it though. He just stood there and stared at it. The immense feeling of hatred was replaced by pain. His scar was suddenly aching as it hadn't ached in a long while. Then he heard the most dreadfully terrifying voice Harry had ever heard. This was the last thing that he could have wanted. A certain person was back to settle his vendetta.

"See what you've done to her Harry. See all the trouble you've caused. You should have just stayed away from her."

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REVIEW! PLEASE!


	3. Murder in the First Degree

Author's Note :

I have made some… changes to this chapter… meaning that it is completely different than the original chapter three. If you have read the original chapter, **forget everything you know concerning that chapter**!!! Pretend it never existed!!!!! If you have not read the original chapter 3, **PLEASE DISREGARD THE PREVIOUS STATEMENT! **I REPEAT PLEASE DISREGARD! Concerning the new chapter 3, it will doubtless shock and amaze you unless you read the original because I kept the big ending surprise in there, but I added new information about Harry's mystery woman, some clues about the big DEATH at the end, and, of course, information on Voldemort's past. If you're not pleased with the suspense in this chapter, you will find that things get more exciting in the upcoming chapters, but you have to admit that the shock value does not get much higher than the sequence at the end. Once again, if you have not already read the original chapter 3, **PLEASE DISREGARD THE PREVIOUS STATEMENT!** If you have read the original chapter 3 and you found the surprise too bland and predictable, you are just as cynical about Harry as a person as I am. I mean really people if you didn't see this coming based on chapters thirty-six (_The Only One He Ever Feared_) and thirty-seven (_The Lost Prophecy_) of _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_, you have far too much faith in Harry's ability to control his rage. Oops… I think I have given far too much away already. 

Disclaimer: The rights to Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling. IN essence, it's all hers, except the plot to my story and the characters I invent, which are all **MINE**.

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**Murder in the First Degree**

The figure glaring down at Harry was Shyler Shango, a sixteen-year-old girl who lived in the neighboring village. She had violently bright blue hair that had a certain glow about it and shimmering silver eyes. Harry felt the odd sensation that the planet was being invaded by wild-haired, pointy-eared aliens the first time he saw her, and he was quite certain that he had seen one of those aliens in a 50's science-fiction movie once before. Shyler, who was usually unphased by anything, had a concerned yet stable look on her face, which was pale and sickly in appearance. Anything that worried Shyler had to be momentous and possibly lethal.

"They told me you were here, but I don't know why you're here," Shyler said, pulling him to his feet with one tug of her muscular arm.

"Who told you?" Harry asked, wondering how anyone could know where he was and had been since he fell asleep on the Dursley's chesterfield when he did not know himself where he had been or how he ended up there.

"The Mugs you grudgingly call relatives. They didn't seem too worried about you though," Shyler said her Transylvanian slang and thick accent becoming more evident. That was one important thing about Shyler: she never tried to hide what she was for anyone, no matter how much they despised who she truly was. Harry didn't hate Shyler's true self, on the contrary, he loved her honesty about herself, although he wasn't certain exactly who he was anymore (that's the general mindset of neglected orphans, but Harry was a special case by anyone's standards).With that final sentence, a thought struck Harry's mind, a thought that came to him often, a thought that she had not intentionally awakened. _No one loves. No one. All the people that ever loved me are dead all because I'm stupid enough to fight Voldemort. By just being born, I marked my parents for death while I get to go on living this miserable existence. It's all my fault that all of these people around me are dying_, he told himself silently.

"What'd you expect from them anyway?" she continued. "Listen, you have to get out of here. Its two days until the full moon. We can't take anymore chances, Harry. You remember vat happened when you came in, and I vas batty, right? We can't let anything like that happen again. It's too dangerous."

"I'm not here because..." Harry began, but he reconsidered due to where they were at at the time, it was not safe to talk about such things in the open in a muggle-infested area or anywhere for that matter. "I'll be more careful next time..."

"And considerate too," Shyler said finishing his sentence, only that wasn't remotely what he had meant to say.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"It's witches' night at the Hanged Man, and we were supposed to go... together... as a couple, but you've been locked away for a week. I figured that you were hiding from me," Shyler said, looking up the hill to the Riddle House.

"No, I wasn't hiding. Listen, I can't explain what happened here. Let's go up to the Riddle House. No one'll here us there," Harry said, grabbing her and beginning to pull her up the hill.

The Riddles' old house belonged to the Dursleys now. When Grunnings, went under, the Dursleys were forced to give up most of their marvelous possessions, including their luxurious home. Vernon Dursley owned property and an old manor out in the country that he had inherited from his late father. His father had gotten the house when it was left to him by a _close family friend _and_ business partner _who had died due to _unknown circumstances_. The villagers of Little Hangleton believed that he just kept the house for _tax purposes_, but he had actually kept it because he knew that eventually he and his family would have to flee Privet Drive and Little Winging all together. Vernon Dursley had been doing secret operations from within Grunnings, operations that were based in India and did not exactly deal with drills.

To Harry Potter, it did not matter why they had left Little Winging, even though it would eventually matter very much to him. Only two things mattered about the Dursleys leaving their former house: the Dursleys were poor (karma, baby), and he was living in the place where his archenemy's father had once lived. This house may have been inhabited by the Dursley's now, but it was still called the Riddle House, even by Harry, who thoroughly despised the sound as it rolled off his tongue. That is the impact that Lord Voldemort left on those walls and on the people in the village of Little Hangelton the night he murdered the Riddles.

It hadn't been Voldemort's first murder, but it had been his most triumphant. He had already killed murder, or ordered the basilisk to kill her rather. He Apparated in the house while the maid was out and there they sat all decked out in their fancy dining clothes in the drawing room. Voldemort's anger only intensified when he realized how well his father had been living while he suffered a poor existence in the orphanage.

"Hello, all. I suppose I should call you my family, but I wouldn't dare give you the honor of being deemed relatives of the Dark Lord Voldemort, Master of Magic, murderer of the unworthy," Tom Junior said, smiling widely.

"My word, who are you, boy?" his grandfath er asked.

"I am no boy! I am Lord Voldemort, the most powerful wizard ever born," Tom Junior replied, thoroughly insulted. "Say goodbye to your wife! Avada Kedavra."

With those two words, Tom Junior's grandmother had died. She screeched in pain as the flash of green light ended her life. Then, Lord Voldemort turned to his grandfather and killed him as well. The order in which he would kill them had been planned out much earlier. Killing his grandparents first let their be a dramatic face-off between Voldemort and his father, like in the movies, although, you can't really call it a face-off since the person he was facing had no way of protecting himself or winning the duel. This didn't matter though because all the Dark Lord wanted was a nice story to tell about vengeance to his followers and pretty much anyone who would listen (Voldemort has always been a big fan of the dramatics, it's his trademark). For such a callous person, Voldemort certainly was a big-headed showoff.

"Any last wishes, Papa?"

"Its you, son?" Tom Senior asked, tearing up.

"It would appear so. Now, Do you have any last wishes or not?"

"Only one. I want you to listen to my side of the story," Tom replied.

"What's to hear? You left my mother because she was a witch!" Voldemort snapped, but he quickly calmed down. "Regardless, I shall hear _your side_ of the story. It'll be a thrilling fantasy for me to tell my children about how grandpapa made up horrible lies about how he _had_ to leave grandmumsy to die!!!"

"Your mother isn't what they told you at the orphanage," he explained.

What do you mean _isn't_? It's wasn't! Show some respect for the dead."

"She faked her death. She's still alive. I'm a..."Tom began, but Voldemort interrupted.

"No, she didn't! You're lying! She died and you wouldn't take me! I'm your son, your only son! You'd rather have me die than take just because.."

"It's not that simple. I loved you, but I couldn't take you. She wouldn't allow it. She wanted to watch me suffer. I hid from her in fear, but I knew you'd come back for me. You were driven by sadness here, not by anger. You always wanted a father and now you get the chance to have one, Thomas. Look into my eyes and you will know I am not lying, son."

Harry followed calmly behind Shyler, sleep still lingering on his eyes. The hill was steep and the only stairs were on the other side near the driveway. They risked being spotted by someone if they used the steps. Although, it was very unlikely that anyone would be out walking near the Riddle House on a rainy day, but Shyler knew you could never be too careful. After all, she had nearly killed a man being careless.

"What really happened, Shy? The other day on the mountain" Harry questioned, as they shut the squeaking, side door behind them and sat down on the chesterfield where Harry had fallen asleep. He'd been asking her that same question ever since it happened, but she kept deliberately dodging his inquiries.

One would imagine that a half-vampire, werewolf outcast wouldn't have anything in common with an upper-class show off with an obsessive fan base, but nothing could be farther from the truth. He was destined to kill his parents' murderer or be killed, and she had given herself the task of murdering anyone who stood in the way of the vengeance she had dedicated her life to achieving.

"He deserved it, Harry, with his cross and garlic, waving it in my face like some lunatic on acid, calling me a daemon and reciting spells to send me to **_hell_**!" Shyler answered, her blood pressure rising.

"That was uncalled for though. That man could have died and started a vampire hunt."

It was true. There had been hunts before, but the most that had ever died was fifteen, including Shyler's father or so Harry had been told. Shyler had never had trouble lying to anyone before then, but the guilt of lying to Harry when he had entrusted her with his deepest secrets was more than Shyler had dealt with before that time. There was also the fact that their relationship had been a lie that weighed on Shyler's conscience, which until that point she did not realize existed.

"I'm perfectly aware of the corollaries."

"No, Shyler! I don't think you are aware of anything, except your own selfish revenge. You have no control over your powers or your emotions. After all the horrible things you've done, I'm baffled by the fact that you're still clueless as to why people are so afraid of you!" Harry shouted, losing his patience.

SMACK!!!!

"Well, I see you two are getting along nicely. Shyler, can you go fix Harry some tea?'" came a sweet, female voice, but not just any female.

As Shyler set off to the kitchen to make tea, strangely without questioning the request, Harry realized the sparkling, blue eyes, the pale complexion, the darling glint in her smile. This was the girl of Harry's dreams, the one he had seen speaking to Voldemort. Harry wanted so desperately to ask her who she was, but even more he wanted to kiss her. He had felt like this once before: when he had seen the veelas dancing at the world cup.

"I'm from the Order. Shyler too. They sent me to get you. Where've you been? You haven't written in a week. We thought you'd..." the girl said, drawing closer to him.

"I don't know. I can't remember. I fell asleep on the couch, and I woke up under the tree outside with no memory of the last week. All I can remember is seeing Voldemort..."

"And me. I know. I was trying to contact you. I'm a Legilimens," she informed him.

"Did it really happen? What I saw?" Harry asked.

"You sure are a bundle of questions, aren't you? I'll explain later, but not here. Let me see your back. Does it ache?"

"Yeah, but not as badly as my arms though," Harry answered, rubbing his left arm.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

"WHAT?!"

"Shh."

Harry reluctantly complied to her request. The ensuing scene would change both of them and possibly the entire world forever. There, upon Harry's left forearm, was the Dark Mark. This could only mean one thing. There was no other possibility, even if neither one of them would have admitted it.

"Put your shirt back on. Quick!"

Harry fumbled for his shirt and slipped it over his frail body just in time. As Harry finished straightening his shirt, Shyler came in from the kitchen.

"Is something wrong? I heard shouting," Shyler said in an unusually perky and calm tone.

"No, nothin's wrong here," the girl answered, trying desperately to hide Harry from Shyler and kept her voice seeming upbeat and steady.

"Okay," Shyler said, smiling. She got out of the doorway and began walking back to the kitchen, oblivious.

"Don't tell anyone. You hear me, no one. I'll find out what I can about this. Reean might know something so I'll ask her," she said once Shyler was out of view.

"Who's..." Harry began, but she interrupted him.

"Remember: tell no one. I'll be back in a few minutes," the girl said and with that quick sentiment and a loud CRACK she Disapparated.

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Post Script: Dun. Dun. Dun. Dramatic, isn't it? Please put reviews on. Good luck figuring out where Harry's been. It's not as straightforward as it may seem. Adios. I'm on a time crunch.


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